God Save the JONAI: A Macy Diary
by chocolatebearturk
Summary: ON EXTENDED HIATUS In the days leading up to her birthday, Macy begins a new journal. All forms of hilarity ensue. JONAS, Nacy. T for swearing.
1. In which Macy continues

_**God Save the JONAI**__**: A Macy Diary  
(also known as **_**The Very Secret, Extremely Private, Highly Insane Diary of Macy "Hallway Hazard" Misa_.)_**

a/n: So I've come to realize that I've never really written a fanfiction entirely for the lulz (with a bit of romance attached). Since the best comedy I've encountered lately comes in the form of diaries, let's see the inside of Macy Misa's head. :) I'm sure you'll find that it's a bit different than you expected.

If this seems to imitate LaPaige's _Pointless Ramblings_, DramaticStarlet's _Memoirs of a Teenage Feminist_, ink-stained-frenzy's _Manly-Man Journal of Joe Lucas_, and Hey-Hayley's _Diary of a Lucas_… that's because it does. These girls are queens of comedy and it would do all of us well to learn from their example.

_Information You Should Have Before Reading:_

1. I gave Macy my own birthday (June 2nd) in this fanfiction. There's a reason, which you will probably figure out soon enough.  
2. Macy is, at the start of this story, fifteen years old. I've decided that I want to _s-t-r-e-t-c-h_ canon events to fit over a longer time period.  
3. This story will, in all likelihood, have a sequel.

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**Chapter One: In which Macy continues from the previous diary.**

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_Entry 1: 5/23/08  
2:34 pm. My house, living room._

It's been almost an entire year since Stella gave me my first journal. I really can't believe that it's been three hundred and fifty-nine days since she left for her 'summer job' and handed me the diary and Clarence the Armadillo. Three hundred and fifty-nine days. Three thousand, six hundred and seventeen hours. Five hundred and sixteen thousand and nine hundred and sixty minutes. Thirty-one million, seventeen thousand and six hundred seconds. That's… well, that's a lot of time. (And yes, I got out my calculator to figure all that out. So sue me.)

Also, I counted and I apparently used the word JONAS one thousand, four hundred and eighty-three times. That's approximately 4.13 times a day. _Four times every day_ and I didn't even do entries at least one day out of seven. Maybe Stella was right and I _am_ a little too obsessive.

…nah.

(xD Okay, that's a big, fat lie. I'm obsessive and I know it.)

So, let's catch everyone up on the things that happened over the past year, just in case the old me is senile and lost the first diary or can't remember what she just read or is just too lazy to read the whole story in sequence.

Stella gave me the diary because, as she claimed, I had a lot of 'pent-up emotions to get out.' Which I totally didn't get then but I do now. Well, not really. I mean, I'm pretty expressive and I don't exactly bottle up my feelings. Except the weird ones, but who doesn't repress those? Unless I'm the only person in the world who has random mood swings and suspects that the Burger King puts some kind of special drugs in their milkshakes that make them irresistibly delicious so that they can take over the better part of America and turn the country into a monarchy that worships the All-Mighty Flame-Broiled Patty God. But that can't just be me, right?

Anyway. JONAS kick-started their summer tour last year in New Jersey, which meant I got to see a live show for the very first time and it was just as amazing as I'd always imagined. Guh, I'm getting all emotional just thinking about it. I had so much fun and I _almost_ got to meet the band. _Almost_ because I fainted before I could get my program signed. But I still had a blast!

Mom _finally_ let me travel to see some of the shows in Pennsylvania, Texas and Boston. Just the ones in our immediate area, you know. :) I managed to get to the table at the meet and greet for my poster in Wichita, Kansas and I even said 'hi' to Kevin!

When Stella got back from her summer job, she revealed her secret: JONAS was the three best friends she was always talking/complaining/bragging about and they were coming to HMA. To say that I had a hysterical fit—well, okay, so I really just screamed, passed out, and then hyperventilated a little when I woke up. But I managed to stay conscious when I met them. Well, until Kevin mentioned that I came to a concert and said 'hi' to him. Yeah, _then_ I fainted. And apparently it was one of the longer ones, because I was in the nurse's office with the four of them crowded around me when I came to.

Aside from the diary and meeting my favorite band of all time, the year was pretty tame. I mean, I got used to being around the boys pretty quickly (a fact that I am extremely proud of). They're really just normal, attractive guys with magic fingers and incredible voices who also happen to be rock stars and have millions of screaming fans (like me! xD).

Other interesting points… well, the boys got trapped in my mom's store. You know, the whole screaming fans thing. I don't really remember too much about it because—you guessed it!—I passed out again.

Oh, and JONAS and Stella finally told me that I sound like an injured manatee when I sing. I'm not going to get into my rant about Kevin's dishonesty and how I've secretly been testing his integrity ever since (all passes—so far!), because that's documented in the first journal and I'm sure the older me doesn't want to read the same thing twice.

Um… oh, I also figured out that I'm in love with Nick Lucas.

Yeah, I

(♥)

_Entry 2: 5/23/08  
7:29 pm. My house, my bedroom._

Sorry, Stella caught me writing in my new journal and dragged me off for a shopping trip for the boys. She seems to think that I'm spending too much time writing in this thing. Maybe she regrets the pent-up emotions comment now, huh? :D Muahaha.

Anyways, I don't understand why she feels the need to bring me along on these trips. She doesn't need or care about my opinion (outwardly, at least) and she's got perfect taste all on her own. But it was apparently for school clothes because all three boys had gotten too tall for their freaking Chinos. Whatever, Stells. _That's_ why you bought that green silk tie for Kevin's charity event and picked up Joe's custom-ordered Ray Bans. I mean, come up with a better excuse at the least. School clothes? There's two weeks of school left before we're out for the summer! (To be fair, she _did_ end up buying about nine pairs of khaki Chinos.)

So, in continuing with the entry from the previous journal (for that was the reason for starting the new one), I'm worried about this summer. I've gotten so used to having the JONAS boys around that I don't know how I'm going to get through the long months without them. And I'm not going to have Stella around to comfort me, either. So I'm stuck with my posters and Clarence the Armadillo for company. :(

Oh, and this diary, of course. But Clarence and my posters have faces and eyes and stuff. And you, my faithful friend, do not.

Unless I _drew_ a face on you!

:D Hold on!

Kay, so I drew a face on the cover of this diary. My brother says it's creepy with a capital 'k,' but he doesn't even live here (he's visiting now because he can't be here for my birthday, which is happening in TEN DAYS! :DD Excitement!), so what does he know? :P I think it's a cute face.

Now I've got three things to keep me company: my posters, Clarence, and you, diary. Maybe summer won't be _so_ bad. I could join a team… or write a book… or go skinny dipping with Paul, the kid who still shoots peas out of his nose. He's invited me to go with him several times. Okay, not me _specifically_. But he does yell, "Who wants to go skinny dipping with me tonight?!" randomly in the hallway.

…who am I kidding?! Seven weeks without JONAS! Seven weeks without Nick, Kevin, Joe, or Stella! _Seven weeks_ without Nick.

Guh. It's going to be agonizing. D:

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a/n2: Well, there it is. The elusive Macy Diary. :) Nearly done writing it, half-way done typing it up, it's been a looong journey since Christmas break. I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Oh, and it only gets funnier from here. :D

Ta!  
Bethie.


	2. In which Macy has a mental breakdown

**Chapter Two: In which Macy has a mental breakdown and then recovers.**

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_Entry 3: 5/26/08  
12:57 pm. HMA, cafeteria._

I love Stella like the (other) sister I never had, I really do, but sometimes I just wish she'd keep her mouth shut. She's wonderful and an amazing stylist and a fantastic friend, but she's been acting so _weird_ lately. And I don't mean, 'Uh, did you forget to take your Ritalin this morning?' weird (not that she takes Ritalin, of course). I'm talking 'I'm secretly plotting to get you in a dark alley so that I can hit you over the head with a rock and use your corpse as a wall decoration' weird. Or maybe I'm just paranoid.

Okay, here's what I mean: Stella's talking about how _AWESOME_ the summer tour is going to be (this is last week) and how it's going to be such a _BLAST_ to go on the road again and basically making me feel horrible and depressed without realizing it. (She has a tendency of doing that.) But as she's rambling on and on, I suddenly remember that I've been meaning to ask her if she and the boys are going to be here for my birthday.

So here's how the conversation goes:

ME: Oh, Stells! Are you guys going to be here for my birthday on the second?  
STELLA: And so I was thinking white shoes—  
ME: Stella! Hello?  
STELLA: Oh, sorry. You were saying?  
ME: My birthday. June the second. Last day of exams. Will you guys be here for it or are you leaving before then?

And here's where it turns freaky. All of a sudden her eyes bug out of her head and she actually _closes_ her cell phone before she's done with her current text and her mouth has fallen open in this shocked 'o' shape. And then she just runs off without another word, just leaving me in the hallway.

How else can I take that?

So now we're in the middle of lunch and Nick's just finished his commentary on Becca Green's terrible performance at last week's bowling tournament and I make this comment:

"I'm going to miss talking sports with people who actually understand them this summer."

This, of course, is my hopefully not-creepy way of saying that I'm going to miss JONAS and associated parties while they're on tour. I expect maybe a sympathetic smile or two or Kevin to look down at his pudding with a guilty expression on his face or for Joe to pat me on the back and reassure me that they'll miss me, too. What I don't expect is Joe's knowing smirk and the look of mischief flashing in Nick's eyes and Kevin laughing out loud.

"Well, actually," the oldest brother begins, only to be cut off when Stella bursts into violent tears.

"We're going to miss you, too, Mace!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me in a suffocating hug. Which is great and awesome and fantastic, except I can think of three people who I'd rather have hugging me and they're all staring at the two of us with these stricken looks on their faces, which I take to mean that they won't miss me at all.

And this is why I wish Stella would just keep her mouth shut. Because, honestly, it's perfectly normal for a girl to want to hide in the bathroom and cry and write in her diary if she finds out that the people she thought were her friends don't really care about her all that much. (Sorry about the tear stains, by the way. I didn't mean to cry all over you, but I wanted to get all of this down on paper.)

(♥)

_Entry 4: 5/28/08  
4:17 pm. The Burger King._

So, this is the third afternoon in a row that Stella's found some excuse not to hang out with me. I can understand claiming measurements for the boys on Monday (although she made sure to get those before we went shopping last Friday) and yesterday I didn't say anything when she begged off to study for her Spanish final (even though she doesn't know any Spanish at all because she takes French), but really? Was that the best she could do?

"Sorry, Mace," she said in this voice that was really too rushed to sound sorry at all. "I'm… uh… tailoring the boys' tuxedos for prom."

Prom was _two weeks_ ago. I know this because Stella made a huge deal about it and insisted I come. (And don't even ask me how she got me a ticket when I'm a sophomore. I don't _want_ know how she figured that out.)

"Stella," I said, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look at me. I don't like to brag, but I've got a good grip. I doubt she's going to bruise, but I got her attention. "Look, I don't know who you think you're fooling, but if you don't want to hang out with me, don't make up excuses. Just tell me that you've got better things to do than hang around pathetic little Macy Misa, the girl who actually thought she might have some friends for a change."

And so now I'm sitting in a tiny booth at the Burger King, sipping a (clearly!) drugged vanilla milkshake (they ran out of strawberry. How can they be _out_ of strawberry?!) munching on a large French fry and letting my Whoppers get cold. I've been here since school let out a couple hours ago (Mom doesn't need me at the store) and after being ogled at by half of the student population of HMA, I'm ready to rip someone's head off and watch the confetti fly.

Wait, someone just sat down across from me.

Oh, no, he _didn't_ just steal one of my fries. He's going to get a spork in the back of his hand.

(♥)

_Entry 5: 5/28/08  
11:09 pm. The firehouse, upstairs bathroom._

It was Joe.

Considering recent events, I nearly sporked him anyway. But then I remembered that he was one-third of my favorite band, so I decided not to. He would find it difficult to shake his little tambourine if he had a spork permanently lodged in one of his arteries.

So he stole another French fry, dipped it in the ketchup/mayo combo dip I'd mixed together and popped it in his mouth, all without saying a word. I just stared, waiting for him to make the first move.

"So, why does Stella think you hate her?" he asked around his third stolen fry. Deciding to be courteous—after all, despite the fries, he'd gone out of his way to be nice (the fact that he wasn't wearing a disguise said a lot)—I slid over my other Whopper.

"I don't _hate_ her. She's just pulling a 'you,'" I said, munching on my own fry. "Making up excuses not to spend time with me." I finally bit into my burger. "Don't ask me why, though; I have no idea."

Joe, in the process of opening his burger, turned his eyes up to stare at me. "You mean you don't know?"

I shook my head, took a sip of my shake, and then offered him some. He opened up a second straw and stuck it in the cup, taking a very small sip. I watched with interest as he pulled the pickles off of his Whopper and spread my ketchup/mayo mix thickly on his bun with a fry. We ate in silence for a while before I decided to ask the question burning in my mind.

"Why are you here?" I said, setting down my burger to look him in the eye. He was mid-bite, but still didn't hesitate.

"You're my friend and you're upset," he said thickly. He took a sip of half-melted shake. "And we were all worried when you didn't show up at the firehouse."

I was confused for a moment before I remembered—today is a Wednesday, my day off from the store. I'd taken to going over to the firehouse on Wednesdays to hang out with the boys. Sometimes I'd play board games with Kevin and Frankie. Nick, having discovered that even if I couldn't sing, I had excellent musical taste, would ask me to listen to a mix and tell him what needed to be improved. Normally, Joe and Stella were arguing or being cute, but I played the occasional video game with him.

"Oh," I said. I pushed a fry around the tray. "You really consider me a friend? Because on Monday—"

Joe shook his head and grabbed my hand to squeeze it. "We just realized how much we're going to miss you. Think about it; the whole family goes on tour, so we never have to worry about missing each other. And Stella's been coming with us since the start because we can't be trusted to pick out our own clothes to go to a gas station. We've never had a chance to miss anyone close to us."

"Oh," I said again, dropping my eyes. I looked down at his hand covering mine and thought about how my heart would have been pounding in my ears last year just because I was this close to a JONAS. Now… I was just getting this warm feeling in my chest that quickly spread through my whole body. Tears pricked at my eyes and I had to bite my lip and count to ten so I wouldn't cry.

Joe squeezed my hand again and I squeezed back before drawing it away. I sniffled and fiddled with the lid of my shake. After a moment, I said, "Do you think that the Burger King drugs their shakes to make them irresistibly delicious so that they can take over the better part of America and turn it into a monarchy that worships the All-Mighty Flame-Broiled Patty God?"

I wasn't looking at him when I said it, but when I looked up at Joe's face, he was grinning broadly.

"Absolutely," he said, tossing a pickle at me.

After we finished eating Joe drove me back to the firehouse, where the others had been waiting for news. Stella was apologizing before I was fully in the door and Kevin picked me up in a bone-crushing hug that lifted me at least a foot off the ground. And then there was Nick. He just kind of stared at me for a minute with this unreadable look in his eyes. Then he pulled me into a tight hug (!!), kissed my temple (!!!), and whispered in my ear (!!!!).

"How could you _ever_ doubt that we care about you?"

And now, after about seven games of Dopey Doctor (it's actually really fun if you don't let yourself get all tense about it), we've all decided that we'll have a sleepover and skip school tomorrow. All the parents were surprisingly cool with it—even Stella's Nazi-mom (who, admittedly, only agreed if I stayed, too).

Once again, I'm hiding in the bathroom. But for a happy reason this time. :)

Even if they can't be here for my birthday, I'll consider this my present. Sleeping over at the firehouse, skipping school to spend the day with JONAS… what could be better?

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a/n: And there goes chapter two. :) I didn't want to post so soon, but I don't know when I'll be able to, so I might as well do it now.

Love!  
Beth.


	3. In which Macy has a horrible day

**Chapter Three: In which Macy has a horrible day and attempts to explain it.  
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a/n: Before you begin reading this chapter, I would like to remind everyone that paying attention to the dates and times on the journal entries really makes the jokes that much better. :) I'm like the J.K. Rowling of fanfiction--I don't write anything without a reason.

Enjoy! :D

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_Entry 6: 5/29/08  
8:46 pm. My bedroom._

A _lot_ of things could be better.

(♥)

_Entry 7: 5/29/08  
8:52 pm. My room._

And when I say a _lot_, I mean a _lot_, a _LOT_.

(♥)

_Entry 8: 5/29/08  
9:03 pm. My room._

I mean _A LOT_ of things.

Like getting my hair pulled out by the roots a few strands at a time.

Or having my head sawed off with a dull butter knife.

Or sticking pins in my eyes.

Or watching the Yankees get pummeled by the Red Sox.

Or… or…

There's just a lot of really _horrible_ things that would have been more enjoyable than today, okay?!

I don't want to talk about it.

(♥)

_Entry 9: 5/29/08  
9:12 pm. My room._

Okay, so remember what I said in my first journal entry about a certain Nicholas Jerry Lucas and certain feelings regarding that certain person? Well, I've been trying _hard_ not to repeat last year's mistake. If Nick had _looked_ in my diary when he found it in the gym, my life would have been OVER. O-V-E-R. Faster than a junior JONAS-head can scream, "OHEMJAY!!" (Which is _pretty_ darn fast.)

So I've refrained from writing about how he smiled at me a total of twelve times last week (that's almost two smiles _per day_!) and how his eyes totally smolder with intensity when he's writing a song and he's just the cutest, sweetest, most talented and amazing person on this planet and I love him so much that I want to cry and watch sappy movies, which I never, ever do.

And today was an absolute _disaster_. I—

Damnit, more tearstains! (Sorry, Philip. And yes, I've decided to name you Philip.)

(♥)

_Entry 10: 5/29/08  
10:17 pm. My room._

Okay, now that I'm done crying (mostly), I may as well record what happened. After all, that's the point of a diary, right? Right. Because it would be stupid to talk about how awful everything was and then never explain it. It would just be cruel to whoever's reading this to keep them out of the loop. I'm stalling. I'm writing in a diary and I'm stalling. How pathetic am I?

Last night, after I snuck off to the bathroom to write in this thing, everyone else decided that we'd watch a movie. Which, honestly, is perfectly fine. Really, I mean that. I love movies and I especially love to watch them with other people. What wasn't fine with me, though, was the movie they chose.

_Paranoia_. They picked what is probably the scariest movie of the decade to watch at eleven at night, with all the lights off. Which, again, is fine. Great, even. If I'd been sitting in a chair on my own, where no one could see/hear/feel me flinching and covering my face, I would have been okay.

But I wasn't. Yeah, three guesses who I ended up sitting next to.

I started out clinging to the arm of the couch, but somewhere between the hospital scene and the eighth time the untraceable phone called the house, I'd started to lean on Nick. He didn't say anything, but he gave me a look when I gripped his arm.

"Sorry," I mumbled, letting him go. I don't know if he felt sorry for me or if he was trying to help or if he… y'know, felt something for _me_, but he took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, smiling slightly in reassurance. I couldn't do much except blush as I mentally edited twelve to thirteen and turned back to the movie. Although I didn't really want to be watching it, I was now invested in the plot and wanted to find out what happened.

Now, here's the thing about scary movies. There's a certain moment in every single one that everyone knows about. It's been about an hour since the movie began. The first climax, which comes the first time the monster attacks or when the first main character dies or, in the case of our movie, the first time the main character spots the killer hanging around the house—that first climax has passed. You're coming up on the second climax and you just _know_ that something bad is about to happen, but you just don't know _when_. All the signs are there: you can recognize the monster's growl or there's a bunch of close-ups on someone's terrified eyes or, again in the case of our movie, there's a view of the main character from the bushes or something.

Anyways, _that's_ the point we were at when I hid my face in his shoulder. I just couldn't look at the screen anymore and he had one of my hands and the other was clutching the seat so tightly that my fingers were cramping and _everybody_ knows that just shutting your eyes is never enough. I'm not making excuses; it's really not enough when you're scared. Scientifically proven. I know because it's on the Internet and the Internet has never lied to me before.

So there we are, watching the scariest movie of the decade, with me squeezing the hell out of his hand and hiding my face in his shoulder and I'm so busy being amazed that he hasn't pulled away that I don't notice Kevin, who is _officially_ aware that I'm a coward. Apparently, he thought it would be funny to call my cell phone in the middle of a movie about untraceable phone calls. He, also apparently, didn't realize the kind of danger this would put his brother in.

My pocket vibrated and my shriek of surprise/fear/some-other-emotion-that-will-cause-me-to-shriek-girlishly was so loud that it drowned out my ringtone (Kevin's personal one, the whistling part of Pizza Girl, because that's my favorite part of the music video). My hand—the one that was clutching helplessly at Nick's—tried to close into a fist and bones could clearly be heard popping in his fingers. I let go of him with a gasp and leaned away from his shoulder.

"Jeez, Macy," Kevin said in-between bouts of hysterical and (to my ears) mocking laughter. "Don't you know to shut off your phone during a movie?"

Joe also began laughing at me, but all of my attention was focused on Nick.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching and gingerly touching his hand. "I didn't break your hand, did I?"

Nick flexed his fingers. "No, I think you just popped my knuckles. All of them."

And as relieved as I was to hear that, I also saw the scrutinizing glance Stella threw at m. I was in big, big trouble. She dragged me back to the bathroom while the boys picked out the next movie (something tamer, I hoped, if only for Nick's sake). The conversation went something like this:

STELLA: What was all that about?  
ME: All what about?  
STELLA: I mean, what happened back there?  
ME: Not that you were _there_ or anything, but I nearly broke Nick's hand. Now can we please go back out—?  
STELLA: No, no, no. I'm _not_ finished with you. Why were you holding Nick's hand?  
ME: One, _he_ was holding _my_ hand. B, I was scared. It's called comforting a friend, if you've never done it. And lastly, why do you care?  
STELLA: You like him.  
ME: We've been over this a hundred and three times, Stells. You know this.  
STELLA: But _he_ doesn't.  
ME: And I'd like to keep it that way, so can we please forget this and prevent them from putting in _Titanic_? I saw Joe giving it the eye and we both know that I'll cry like a baby all over the nearest person.

And that was it. It didn't take much to convince Stella that there was nothing going on. Which was what I wanted, but it still kind of stung. I mean, it's just so unbelievable that she automatically dismisses the idea. I _know_ that, but it still hurts every now and then. At least I didn't tell Stella the _whole_ truth when I told her about my feelings for Nick. Or else this would be a lot harder to deal with.

So we ended up watching some comedy that I don't remember much about except that Nick found it extremely funny, because he was chuckling the whole time. I smiled every time I heard him laugh and I must've looked like a complete idiot, but I didn't really mind, because I _love_ his laugh. I'm sure that Stella was giving me one of her looks again, but I didn't care much. I was fantasizing about what it would be like to be sitting in Nick's lap and listening to his laugh with my head pressed against his chest.

When it came time for bed, Stella and I changed into some pajamas she had apparently left lying around the Stellavator, taking turns in the bathroom. Nick graciously offered us his bed.

"I can sleep in one of Kevin's bunks," he told us. Joe, upon hearing this, decided that he wouldn't be outdone.

"One of you can sleep in my bed," he said quickly. "I can sleep in the other bunk."

As much as I tried to convince the both of them that I could make a pallet on the floor, they wouldn't back down. I ended up sleeping in Nick's bed (because only an idiot would deny Stella the chance to sleep in Joe's bed). So I was alone. In his bed. With his scent tickling my nose the entire night. You'd think I would have slept better than I did.

Bright and early the next morning, someone was shaking my shoulder. "Jeez, Nick," I mumbled sleepily. "Is it such a crime to fall asleep in Geometry?"

A light chuckle met my ears and I was jolted into full consciousness when I realized I _knew_ that voice. "Maybe not, but it's 7:05. I thought _you_ might appreciate the wake-up call."

"It's 7:05?" I rubbed at one eye with the heel of my hand, sitting up in Nick's bed. Truthfully, this didn't do more than bring my forehead level with the floor. "Gosh, I don't guess I ever told you… I set my alarm clock for 7:05 on the weekends. And then I go back to bed at 7:11."

The bed moved under me and I realized that Mr. Early Riser had come down to sit with me. The lights were off and dawn was only _just_ breaking, so I couldn't really see his face. Not that I needed to, of course; his voice kind of gave away his identity. Nick's voice had a deeper timbre to it (I chalked it up to how somber he usually was) and Joe's voice wasn't… innocent enough, I supposed.

"Why do you go back to sleep at 7:11?"

The early hour was messing with my head—that's the only excuse I can think of for what I said next, because otherwise I would never have let the words pass from my lips. "I'm not much of an early riser, so I just spend six minutes being thankful that I get to be your friend."

"Macy…" His voice was a little strangled and I took this to mean that he was embarrassed for me—who wouldn't be after I'd said something as stupid as that? I quickly continued to reassure him that I was _not_, in fact, a creeper.

"Well, I _used_ to, Now I make updates to the website or check my email," I said, giving him a nervous laugh and running a hand through my messy hair. "Do _you_ always get up this early, Kevin?"

The bed moved and I could suddenly imagine him sitting there with his legs crossed, nodding so enthusiastically that his whole body moved and bounced on the bed. It made me smile as he replied.

"Yep. I especially like it in the winter because I get to greet the sun in the morning," he said. Again, I couldn't help my smile. It was so… _Kevin_. I might have expected him to sleep in when I first met him, but now I _got_ it. I got _him_, I guess. The wonderful enigma of childlike innocence and nearly adult maturity that is Kevin Lucas.

"That's… that's really amazing," I said softly, and this was punctuated by a long moment of silence. I realized then that I was honest-to-God friends with these boys—after all, not many people knew that Nick Lucas was totally okay with having his hand crushed during a scary movie or that Joe Lucas had a habit of stealing French fries from his lunch buddy or that Kevin Lucas loved to get up early in the morning to watch the sun rise.

After a while of the two of us just sitting there, lost in our own thoughts (I could tell that he was lost in his own thoughts because he was fidgeting and Kevin always fidgets when he's thinking really hard about something), Kevin finally spoke up.

"Look, Macy," he began. I felt the bed move under me again and something stretched out over my legs. Wow, his legs were a lot longer than I thought they were. I mean, I knew he was the tallest brother (Stella's most recent measurements said five-foot nine and continuing to grow, whereas Joe was hovering at five-foot-eight and Nick was catching up at the same height), but I guess I didn't realize that most of his height was in his legs.

He continued and I was pulled out of my musings about his height. "The real reason I woke you up is because I wanted to apologize for last night."

"Oh, Kevin," I said. A fist closed around my heart and I knew then that Kevin had passed Integrity Test #31, which had yet to even be administered in the form of a grilling about last night's fiasco. I reached out in the gloom and gently patted his knee (at least… I was pretty sure it was his knee). "You don't need to apologize for anything. I'm the one who agreed to watch a movie that I knew was going to spook me."

I thought I heard him make a sound, like he was going to try to protest, but we just lapsed into silence again. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular (certainly not how many shades of brown are in Nick's eyes and how, if you look really, _really_ closely, you can see little flecks of gold in them) and wondered, for a moment, if 7:11 had come and gone. I was starting to drift off again when Kevin's voice broke through my fog.

"So, how long have you known you're in love with my brother?"

"Five months, three days and fourteen hours," I replied automatically, without any conscious thought. It was only after the words left my mouth that I thought to gasp. "How did you know?"

"I didn't until just now," Kevin said with a chuckle. It didn't strike me then how unconcerned he was, but now that I think about it, it _is_ pretty odd. I mean, he isn't concern him that I'm totally in love with Nick? Why? But, of course, this is Kevin we're talking about. An arm went around my shoulders and squeezed for a moment before the bed moved for a final time and the legs on top of my own left. He was getting up.

"Go back to sleep, Macy," he said softly. I nodded, although he couldn't see me, and looked at the clock.

7:11.

Knowing it would be impossible to fall asleep after the conversation we'd just had, I pulled out my iPod and put on my bedtime mix that consisted of soft, slow songs that would lull me to sleep. I was out after two songs.

God, I'm tired from all of this crying. I'll tell you about today in the morning, because there is _no way_ I'm going to school.

* * *

a/n2: :D There it is. And guess what? It gets even better. Tell me what you think, okay? I'm really going out of my way to make this funny and fluffy and adorable.

Love!  
Bethie.


	4. In which Macy hits her head

**Chapter Four: In which Macy hits her head… HARD.**

_Entry 11: 5/30/08  
8:03 am. HMA, janitor's closet, first floor._

My mom made me come to school. She was all smirk-y and annoying, and even _after_ I explained what all happened yesterday (I'll get to it in a minute, I _swear_), she refused to relent. I should call Child Services on her. This is cruelty of the highest form, I swear. God (yes, I'm talking to you; I know it's been a while), if I ever have kids (not likely after yesterday), I will be a better mother, I promise. And I won't bore my kids with stories about me and their dad.

(eyeroll) Honestly, you'd think I _cared_, the way she goes on. "Oh, you should have SEEN US! Dancing around the fact that we were totally in love with each other because we were so convinced that the other would never love us!"

_How_ does that apply here? Because, as far as I can tell, Nick's in love with Megan Fox. (At least he's got good taste…)

Anyways, now that I'm hiding in this awesome hiding spot where JONAS and Stella will never, ever find me, I can tell you all about the fiasco yesterday. See, when I woke up

_Entry 12: 5/30/08_

_3:00 pm. My living room._

They found me.

I was crouching on the floor of the janitor's closet writing in you, dear Philip, when the door suddenly opened and there was more than my penlight lighting up the little room and then four long, ominous shadows stretched across the floor.

Of course, what I did was only sensible in every sense of the word. I high-tailed it out of there! 'Course, I forget that they're used to running from fangirls and can therefore run very fast and so they nearly caught me… and then, just as I was about to round the corner and lose them for good by tossing down the trashcan, Joe decides to make a smart decision for once in his life. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor with Joe groaning on top of me. (Trust me; it wasn't nearly as sexy as it sounded.)

"Joe, what are you _doing_?!" Stella yelled. "You could have hurt her!"

He rolled off of me and Kevin helped him to his feet while Nick knelt beside me. His voice was clearly concerned. "Are you okay, Macy? You hit your head pretty hard…"

"Um, is it okay that I don't remember falling?" I asked. My head hurt where it had apparently smacked the linoleum. It was pounding ferociously and I could barely hold my hand to my head without feeling the need to wince. I attempted to sit up, but found it a little difficult. The room spun dangerously fast and I remember thinking that school had gotten a lot more exciting now that they'd added the theme park rides. Thankfully, I wasn't sick all over anyone. I didn't have anything in my stomach to be sick with, because I'd skipped breakfast in an attempt to appear sick and weasel out of school.

An arm slipped around my shoulders to help me sit up properly and the room slowly stopped spinning enough that I could make out who was holding me.

"Oh, hi, Kevin!" I giggled. Looking back, I can't believe that I actually giggled. I rarely do—only when I'm out of it (as I clearly was here) or I'm having a fan moment.

"That's not good," Nick's voice said. "I'm taking her to the nurse."

Somewhere nearby, I distinctly heard a smack and Joe crying out and (God help me) I giggled again. Kevin's hold on me was warm and comfortable and I found myself leaning into him unconsciously. Of course, then I felt like an awful, horrible person because he was _Kevin_ and I was supposed to be in love with _Nick_. Attempting to distract myself from this, I told him, "I think Stella's mad at Joe."

"Okay, _definitely_ taking you to see the nurse," Nick's voice said again. Kevin's arm tightened and he slid the other under my knees and—MOTHEROF—the ground disappeared from under me. I let out a frightened squeal and clung to his neck.

"You're okay, Mace," Nick's voice told me. "Just going to see the nurse." I looked up into his face and saw the small smile and the concerned eyes and flushed immediately when I realized my mistake.

"Sorry, Nick," I mumbled. I looked down at the ground and realized that he was carrying me to the nurse. "I can walk, you know."

"I know, but you're dizzy as hell," Nick said. "I don't want to take the chance of you hurting yourself. Well, that, and I want to keep my hands busy so I don't strangle Joe."

My brow furrowed. "Strangle…? Oh, because he tackled me," I said. I shrugged a little and loosened my death grip on the boy's neck. "It was good strategy, though. You might've lost me if I'd turned the corner."

Nick gave me an incredulous look and I flushed darker as he shook his head. "You might have a concussion because of that _idiot_ and you're appreciating his strategy? I don't think I'll ever understand the way you think, Mace."

"I'll never understand _you_ guys," I mumbled grumpily. Trusting that he wouldn't drop me, I let one of my hands return to my lap so that I could fiddle with the hem of my shirt. "After yesterday, you should be avoiding me like the plague or, at the least, pretending I don't exist. I would if I could, but I'm kind of stuck with me, so…"

"Yesterday?" Nick grunted a little as he shifted my weight in his arms and my own immediately wound tightly around his neck again. However, I didn't have to worry, because he set me gently on my feet. It took a moment for it to register, but I pulled my arms away from him with a blush. "Are you still worried about all that? I _told_ you; it wasn't your fault. Big Rob will be back to normal once he finishes his therapy and then—"

"Wait, he needs _therapy_?!" I exclaimed. Nick winced. "You see? I've ruined _everything_. One little fight with Stella and—"

Okay, I'm going to pause here and explain. If you've never been in love with anyone, you may not be familiar with the way a person's body tends to react to the tiniest little gestures of the object of one's affections. If you _have_ been in love, then you know that it was perfectly normal for me to be aware of how Nick barely shuffled closer to me and leaned down just a fraction of an inch so that he could look down into my eyes.

I swear, I could _feel_ his body heat. He felt that close. My eyes were darting around, trying to find anything _but_ him to look at, when suddenly his fingers gripped my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. All of the blood in my face rushed to my cheeks at the same moment my knees turned to jelly.

"Macy," he said in this low, sexy voice. About that time, I realized that he was perfectly aware of what he was doing, but it didn't stop the chill that ran down my spine. His eyes burned into mine, liquid and intense. "I don't want you to blame yourself for yesterday."

"B-but…" I stammered. I doubted my bump on the head had anything to do with the wave of lightheadedness that struck me.

"I mean it, Mace," he said. His voice was hardly more than a low whisper, but I caught every word. His face was so close to mine and my eyes were starting to flutter closed. I felt his breath on my face. "Yesterday was _not_ your fault."

My knees were going to give out any minute. I knew he wouldn't follow through with what his actions were implying; he just wasn't that sort of guy. Still, if he kept this up, it _would_ become obvious that I felt more than friendly feelings for him. My lips could barely form the words as I said, "O-o-okay."

And immediately, he was a respectable distance away again. He put an arm around my shoulders and led me to the nurse's office with a triumphant smirk.

So here I am, sitting on the couch and holding an ice pack to my head because the nurse decided that I _might_ have a concussion and I _might_ need to stay awake for the next twenty-four hours. Oh, and—surprise, surprise!—my mom and dad have to fly out to Washington (the state, not D. C.) because Great Aunt Muriel is going through another one of _those_ phases.

Guess who invited himself over to help me stay awake?

Yeah.

I'm… _so freaking LUCKY_.

(eyeroll)

( )

_:) Bonus Entry 1: 5/30/08  
7:05 pm. Your living room._

Well, Macy, I'm surprised. Never pegged you for the diary sort of girl. I mean, I see you scribbling in this thing every now and then, but I never thought that you were keeping a diary. And with such thoughtfully accurate dates and times (I only flipped to the front to see when you started writing in this thing. A week ago? A _week_ and you've written this much?).

Anyway, I was just curious and I thought I'd inform you (since you're in the shower and all) that it is/was 7:05. Time's a tricky little bugger. ;)

So, um… your Aunt Muriel does this often? Gets herself put in jail for… what was it? Either attempted murder or assault with a deadly weapon. Your poor Uncle Ted… he's doing okay, isn't he? Your parents said he'd woken up while they were in the hospital.

Well, I just heard the water shut off, so I'll stop writing now. :) Don't kill me, please?

Love,

Nick Lucas.

(PS—Your sarcasm wounds me. It really does.)

(PPS—You take a _long_ time to dry your hair.)

( )

_Entry WHATEVER_

I AM GOING TO KILL NICHOLAS JERRY LUCAS IF IT IS THE LAST THING I DO!

It's called a 'PRIVATE TIARY—_KEEP OUT_!' for a reason, _NICK_.

Excuse me, Philip, while I beat Nick over the head with your FACE.

( )

_Entry 14: 5/30/08  
11:41 pm. Living room._

Having him here is working as effectively as any caffeine. I can't sleep. At. All. _He_ fell asleep two hours ago, but I can't. Not with _him_ here.

This is really _fantastic_.

Well, actually, it's a little _more_ than fantastic. Because now I get to watch him sleep. And he's almost cuter when he's asleep than when he's awake. (Seriously, if you've never seen Nick Lucas sleeping, it's the most spellbinding thing ever. He's just so… so… _guh_.) I don't have to worry about him catching me staring, for one. And now I can laugh (quietly, of course) at the way he got me to calm down earlier.

_("OW—Quit it, Mace! I—ACK—didn't mean to—GUH! C'mon! OW! Do you really—OUCH!—want to kill your favorite—EEP—JONAS?")_

Of course, he doesn't know how true those words are. And I'm not going to tell him any time soon—sorry, _EVER_.

I wonder if he knows that he snores. Not a lot—just slightly. And it's a squeaky, cute kind of snore. Like the way my cousin's cat snores. I swear, though, if this were a cheesy fanfiction or a romantic comedy, I'd find out he talks in his—

OH.

MY.

GOD.

"Stop it…"

"Stop it, Kev. She's gonna…"

"It's a secret…"

"Joe, you can't…"

:O

HE SLEEP-TALKS.

Okay, I'm _obviously_ being Punk'd or something. There's no way he actually sleep-talks. I'm going to hit him for trying to trick me like that. There is no honor or dignity in… Wow. He's actually asleep. He didn't even cringe when I raised your face threateningly over his head. Huh. So he's _actually_ a sleep-talker? Never would've pegged him for it. Joe, maybe. Kevin, definitely. Nick? No way.

So wait… what's this secret?

He shifted… and he's done, it looks like. He's got a little curl falling between his eyes. I almost want to reach out and brush it out of his eyes, but I know that if I do, he'll open them and look at me and see my hand and I'll be embarrassed and he'll be embarrassed and he'll _know_ if he doesn't _know_ already because he's smart enough to figure it out.

I can just image that scene, too. Reaching out, fingers just barely brushing that little curl before his lids flip open and he's looking at me with those soulful brown eyes. I can _see_ them, and all the wonderful shades of brown and the tiny flecks of gold deep, deep down and the way they tend to look right through you and—OHGOD, HE'S ACTUALLY AWAKE.

EEP.

* * *

a/n: Guess who you have to thank for this update? Everyone turn your eyes to _Sweetgalsab_ and _PurpleAngel87_. Their wonderful reviews and encouragement got me to finish this early. Well, actually, I just split the chapter into two. Expect the next update to be shorter than usual. But the story's slowly coming to a close as Macy's birthday comes up.

What do _you_ think is going to happen then? ;D

Love, love, and more love,  
Beth.


	5. In which Nick gets very cheeky

**Chapter Five: In which Nick gets very cheeky.**

_Entry 15: 5/31/08  
__5:26 am, my room._

He fell asleep (again) while we watched _March of the Penguins_ and now I'm hiding in my room. God, that was embarrassing. Even more embarrassing than that little fantasy I cooked up about brushing the curl out of his eyes. Which, by the way, I found out that I was actually reaching toward it with my left hand. :O How embarrassing is _that_? I could just _die_. I must have been staring into his open eyes for a full minute or more—how _creepy_ is that? Poor Nick tries to help me out and what do I do? I act all creepy and weird, that's what I do!

I almost feel like crying now. Is that really how pathetic I am? That I get all weepy over the smallest—okay, maybe it's not _so_ pathetic. There's just—

I hear something. It's someone on the stairs.

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT.

He just _has_ to come look for me, doesn't he? He can't just accept the fact that I'm gone and go back to sleep. _Nooooo_, he just _has_ to get worried and come looking for me like a _kind_, _responsible_ person would. :P

Damnit, I need to stop complaining and look for a place to hide.

Muhaha! I have hidden under the bed. He will never find me here. :D Now, while I'm waiting for him to give up and leave, I can _finally_ discuss what happened the other day that caused me to pitch such an almighty fit. You see, we all decided to

Wait! Bedroom door opening. Footsteps.

"Macy? Macy, c'mon. Stop messing around." Is there a bit of panic there? Methinks so. Why would Nick be panicky about me? :/

More footsteps.

"Macy, I've looked all over the house. You've _got_ to be in here." Now desperation. _He's_ sure acting odd tonight.

Closet door: open, shut.

Silence.

"Mace, I can hear your pencil scratching."

DAMN! Diary, you have betrayed me.

"Where _are_ you, Mace?" Exasperation now. I think he's upset with me. Sadness. But I cannot reveal my location. Thinking of that, I should really stop writing. I'm going to give myself away before too long. Philip, why does writing in your neatly lined and bound body have to be so addictive?

"Are you… are you under the bed?" He sounds… amused.

Footsteps… oh, hi, Nick's feet!

Hi, Nick's face! (Yes, I sent him a tight smile and waved. I'm weird. Get used to it.)

"What are you _doing_ down here?" he asks, sneezing on a dust bunny.

Like it isn't obvious. "Hiding," I reply shortly.

"_Why_?" he persists. He squeezes his head and one arm under the bed, but he's just too big to follow me down here. I knew it was a good hiding spot. "I can—_maybe _—understand abandoning me during _March of the Penguins_. But hiding under your bed?"

"I'm embarrassed!" I say. "You caught me staring at you—that's more than just mildly creepy. And even after you caught me, I continued to stare, and even though I hadn't quite realized that you were awake, it's still really, _really_ weird. I mean, for all you know, I could have been plotting to murder you and then roast your heart in some weird, demonic ritual."

He looks a little scared now. Shit! "Uh… were you?"

"NO!" I exclaim, blushing madly. "I was… well, I mean… I just—"

"Then there's obviously no reason for me to worry, is there?" he asks, smiling slightly. My heart is pounding. I can't remember how many smiles that makes. He pulls himself out from under my bed, but keeps himself low to the ground. He offers me a hand. "C'mon. Stop scribbling in your journal and we can go for an early morning jog."

()

_:) Bonus Entry 2: 5/31/08  
__6:35 pm. Your bedroom._

You are SO _INCREDIBLY_ DIFFICULT, you know that? Like, I can't even _believe_ how difficult it was to keep you out of this thing. If you aren't writing in it, you're re-reading what you've written. You've had this thing for a week. And, no offense, but your life _can't_ be this exciting. _My_ week didn't warrant… TWENTY-SEVEN PAGES? Holy mother of Mike! If I weren't afraid that you'd beat me with a volleyball, I would be obligated to find out what you've been writing about.

Of course, unlike certain people with sideburns that I saw you canoodling with in the early hours of the morning, _I_ have some self-control. And what was that all about, anyway? The early-morning wake-up call? I'm used to Kevin-the-Early-Riser, but he usually doesn't try to get any of us up to join him. So what happened? And why'd you go back to sleep? I would think that the prospect of spending the morning with a JONAS would be enough to keep you awake. I mean, you stayed up all that time with me. Not that that was fan-behavior or… damnit, why'd I pick a pen to write in this thing?

That's another thing. HOW MANY PENS DO YOU NEED? You've got, like, _EIGHTY_ in this desk of yours. And none of them are blue or black. NONE. They're all orange or red or green or purple or pink… Do you have, like, a _thing_ for unusually-colored pens?

Oh, and sorry that I'm doing this again, by the way. I refuse to leave you along now that you're allowed to sleep (I know, I'm so evil, right? :P) and I've got nothing to do until you wake up. Yeah, and I'm _not_ leaving the room after what happened last time I let you out of my sight (under the _bed_?); besides, I'd probably be scared if I woke up and I was all on my own. I kind of _was_ yesterday, but that's completely different. I was afraid that something had happened to you… something _terrible_… I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I was when I found you under the bed.

While I'm talking about it, what was _with_ that? I mean, I guess I can understand that you were embarrassed, but to go so far as to hide under the _bed_? There are dust bunnies and… it's just not nice. How did you _fit_ under there, too? You must be _tiny_. Like… I'm not sure Frankie would fit under there. Just saying.

…

I've been trying for the past fifteen minutes to think of something interesting to say, but all I can think about is how you managed to fill TWENTY-SEVEN pages over a week. You don't even have any games to do play-by-play accounts of and practices for most of your teams are over. Even if you wrote down a word-for-word account of the other day, you shouldn't have twenty-seven pages of things to talk about.

:/ Hum.

Well, I'd better get out of this thing before you decide that death isn't punishment enough for writing in your diary again.

…oh, and I'm having a hard time _not_ watching you sleep, too. You make the cutest faces when you're dreaming! :)

Love,  
Nicholas Jerry Lucas.

PS—It is now exactly 7:05 pm. :)

* * *

a/n: So, this chapter is shorter than usual because it's technically the rest of chapter four. xD I split it up because it was getting really long. Don't worry, chapter six should be longer. But the story is winding down to a close. The next chapter reopens on June the first--the day before Macy's birthday. What could possibly happen between now and then? :O

Rainbows, love, and Nacy hugs. :)  
Beth.


End file.
